ESSENCE. (January 2025) (Philosophy. a property or group of properties of something without which it would not exist or be what it is.) wool, cotton, handspun yarn // This past year, I've come to terms with the realization that, through different stages of motherhood, I've become someone else entirely. A consequence of motherhood I was never told about. Or at least, not to this extent. I knew my life would change but I didn't expect to lose myself entirely. With now both my children in school and after 5 years of staying home with them, I am gently escaping the maternity fog I've been traveling in for the past 7+ years. The experience feels uncomfortable (more often than not) but also exhilarating. I'm not coming out of it unscathed, and how could I? Motherhood is beautiful and difficult and magical and impossible all at the same time. I'm entering this new era of self with a lot of baggage but I am appreciative and thankful for all those versions of me that came before. The 'who I was', 'who I thought I was', 'who I thought I needed to be' and 'who I had to be to keep going', they've all carried me here and there wouldn't be one without the other.

ESSENCE. (January 2025) (Philosophy. a property or group of properties of something without which it would not exist or be what it is.) wool, cotton, handspun yarn // This past year, I've come to terms with the realization that, through different stages of motherhood, I've become someone else entirely. A consequence of motherhood I was never told about. Or at least, not to this extent. I knew my life would change but I didn't expect to lose myself entirely. With now both my children in school and after 5 years of staying home with them, I am gently escaping the maternity fog I've been traveling in for the past 7+ years. The experience feels uncomfortable (more often than not) but also exhilarating. I'm not coming out of it unscathed, and how could I? Motherhood is beautiful and difficult and magical and impossible all at the same time. I'm entering this new era of self with a lot of baggage but I am appreciative and thankful for all those versions of me that came before. The 'who I was', 'who I thought I was', 'who I thought I needed to be' and 'who I had to be to keep going', they've all carried me here and there wouldn't be one without the other.

To become a mother is to walk through the door everyday hoping to love better and to remember to enjoy the present.

To become a mother is to say goodbye to versions of you, versions of them and never get them back.

To become a mother is to be transported into a universe so grand, so full, that it makes you forget for a while that nothing lasts forever. 

And thankfully, because how could we cope with the fleeting nature of it all otherwise.

Rivulets To Your River ~ At first, I wanted to name it: "Rivulets, from me to you". A way to acknowledge the parts of us that become parts in our children, big or small. The neverending sharing of self, in both love and fear (because it's impossible not to be afraid to mess it all up, to want to do it right). Something like that. I was hoping to find better words to explain it all but here we are. I hope the image makes up for the lack of words here. Very early in the process of weaving this piece, my grandmother entered palliative care. It was a surprise and the initial shock really knocked the air out of my lungs. During her month long stay, I was able to visit her often (although not enough!) and I had the extraordinary chance to thank her for everything. We talked, held hands, laughed, reminisced about the past and managed to feel hopeful for the future, despite the circumstances. It made me realize that the "me" I share with my kids didn't start with me, it started with my grandmother. We grew up so close to her. She is the river. Our river. So much of her trickles in me. So much of who I am is because of the woman she was and that makes me hopeful. The weaving sessions in between our meetings turned into mourning sittings. So much love and feelings were poured and processed into this piece. My grand-maman passed away peacefully on March 21 2025. I dedicate this piece to her. 💫